


to build a home

by captainharkness



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1970s london, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Mixed Race!James Potter, Muggle London, Mutual Pining, Recreational Drug Use, too much chinese takeaway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 07:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26469178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainharkness/pseuds/captainharkness
Summary: “Merlin, how much did James pour down your throat last night?” Remus laughed, “Yeah, I’m here, I stole your t-shirt, I made you breakfast. Anything else you need clarification on?”Yes, he almost said,Is this why James is so bloody high on domestic life? Does he have to double take every time Lily makes him a bacon sandwich? Does it ever get boring having someone there in the morning when you smell a bit crap and can’t quite put sentences together but doesn’t seem to mind anyway? How the fuck do we ever get them out of their house if this is what it feels like every morning?“Is there tea?” he said instead, because even he wasn’t so hungover so as to start blabbering that sort of nonsense.-A seven part story of how two boys find their place in 1970s London, in the middle of a war, and how they carve it into something almost like a home.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for smoking weed, the First Wizarding War and the violence involved, and mentions of completely consensual full service sex work. I'll pop warnings at the start of relevant chapters, just in case, but I mostly wanted to write something a bit soft and self indulgent and gratifying so. Hopefully nothing too heavy.
> 
> This fic is very much my ode to South London and the (short but otherwise wonderful) time I spent there. I would also like to personally dedicate it to every single member of the LGBTQ+ community who feels like the place they have in the Harry Potter fandom is somehow at risk. It's not. It never will be. Even if I have to make it my personal mission to outlive God just to keep writing the same characters who gave me the chance to find my actual identity. The sun will explode as I submit my last chapter of gay Harry Potter writing. Anyway fuck TERFS.

_ There is a house built out of stone _

_ Wooden floors, walls and window sills _

_ Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust _

_ This is a place where I don't feel alone _

_ This is a place where I feel at home _

_ - _

_ August 22nd, 1978 _

It was late August, and yet despite Summer supposedly drawing to a bitter end, the sun shone as fiercely as she ever had. Light flooded every crevice, every previously dark corner, every alleyway. It made quick work of the grime on the windows, hid the stains on the carpet, and smothered the noises of the ancient water boiler as it chuntered behind the walls like a steam engine. Warmth seemed to settle on the poorly painted-over wallpaper, making a home behind the pattern. It filled the room, and the space below Sirius’ heart that he hadn’t even realised was feeling the cold before that moment.

“Padfoot, shift your ass or help-” James grunted, somewhere from behind a stack of cardboard boxes, meticulously labelled in Remus’ perfect handwriting.

Because even with the sunlight, and the view of Electric Avenue, the Chinese takeaway beneath him and what was almost certainly a massage parlour of questionable repute beside him, his new flat wouldn’t truly be his without his best friends stumbling around in it.

Pete had already started unpacking the few things he had - mostly, it seemed, the books. Remus had been the one to talk him into keeping them, not for sentimental reasons, but in case they ever came in handy. And so seven years of his Hogwarts book collection was packed into boxes taken from the corner shop near Pete’s house, to be unloaded onto the rickety bookshelf that came with the equally rickety flat he’d bagged with his inheritance. 

James’ parents had given him a moving out hamper with some crockery and kitchen bits, a book of cleaning spells, a set of new sheets and a bottle of whiskey (James’ dad had winked at him while his wife rolled her eyes, a small smile of her own playing on her lips) but the rest of what he owned fit into almost depressingly little boxes; a few containing clothes, an old Walkers box for his vinyls, another of mismatched potion supplies that he had collected over the years. 

Not that it mattered, because there was a whole wall of undisturbed magnolia in his living room, the atrocious olive-green paisley wallpaper from the mid sixties peeking through the paint, just begging to be covered in posters. There was a kitchen, with a muggle oven and a muggle fridge freezer that Remus explained with a pained expression was used for keeping food cool, and he was allowed to fill it with beer and chocolate and takeaway from the guys downstairs. And a bedroom, with a real double bed and horrid old sheets that he would be able to shove in the bottom of his wardrobe and never think about. Windows with curtains he could refuse to open when he was hungover, a rug he could charm all the dust under, a door he could lock or open to anyone he desired. 

It had, in the end, taken all four of them to find it. It had been Peter’s idea to look at muggle houses - they were still eye-watering expensive, but much cheaper than living in a magical community area. James had helped him set up a separate account at Gringotts, one that his family couldn’t interfere with under any archaic heritage law. Remus had explained all the little monthly and yearly charges that went with living in muggle London, and sweet talked the goblins into not sneering when he explained he wanted money from his account exchanged to muggle currency and paid to the Electricity People and other such authorities. Together, they had packed his meager belongings into boxes and apparated them to his new flat.

After everything was stacked up inside, they set off to the local shop for basic necessities. Bread, butter, milk, tea, bacon. Shampoo, soap, bog roll. James executed a perfect glide down the aisle on the trolley, and Peter almost fell face first into a display of muggle crisps.

They threw together cheese toasties when they got back and washed them down with muggle beer, pressed together on the sofa that was probably a touch too small for four grown men.

“So,” James said, levitating their plates to the kitchen counter, “what’s first order of business?”

“Unpacking would probably be a good start,” Remus sniped. James elbowed him in the ribs. Peter snickered under his breath.

Sirius thought about it for a second, “Remus probably makes a good point. I was gonna say let’s go explore the area but,” He indicated the front of all their clothes, which were covered in laundry powder which turned out to not be as sealed as tight as Sirius had thought. Muggle laundry powder did not react well to cleaning spells, as James had found out when it immediately started bubbling. There was probably a really helpful practical application for it. He’d have to tell Evans. She loved messing about with that stuff.

“Shouldn’t take more than half an hour with the four of us anyway,” he grinned.

“Sorry, Pads,” James grimaced, “I promised mum I’d give her a hand planning for next weekend, it’s Onam. You guys still up for it, by the way?”

Euphemia Potter was, by Sirius’ reckoning, one of the best mums to ever parent a child. She was, by and large, a significant reason why James was such a fun loving little toerag to begin with. People often met Fleamont and heard his braying laughter and quietly inappropriate jokes and assumed James took after his dad, but Euphemia had been the one to teach James and Sirius how to maintain their silencing charms for hours at a time so they didn’t disturb the neighbours when they threw a party the Summer before seventh year. Born in southern India, she liked to keep up traditions, and Onam was one of Sirius’ favourite times.

“Like I’d miss out on your mum’s payasam,” he snorted.

Remus paled a little, no doubt recalling Euphemia’s earnest if slightly over exuberant efforts to teach Remus to dance, but he still nodded, “Of course.”

James grinned, and slapped Sirius on the back, making him choke on the last mouthful of his beer, “Right, well I’ll see you all around. Have fun. Try and make it more than a week without burning the place down, huh, Pads?”

Sirius flipped him the bird.

“I need to head off, too,” Peter said, getting to his feet, “I’ve got to go to work.”

They both waved goodbye and watched as one half of their wonderful, fantastic motley crew vanished out the door. Remus shuffled down the sofa now James wasn’t taking up most of the room with his sizable arse, and Sirius felt himself deflate, no longer feeling the bodyheat of his best friend through his jeans.

Because three years and four months ago, Sirius Black realised he was very much head over heels, thoroughly, and inconsolably, in love with Remus Lupin.

(It wasn’t as neat as it sounded. It was a much messier, longer, tiresome process. There may have, at one point, been the hint of a tear. He’d deny it under threat of torture.)

Luckily, Remus was either completely oblivious or desperately polite - either suited him just fine, as far as this was concerned. Which left Sirius to do his pathetic pining in private, and the necessary self-chastisement over being such a sad, moping twat in the glory of his very own flat.

“So,” he said, finally, “I suppose you’ve got some wildly important thing to rush off and leave me on my ones as well, then?”

Remus smiled, and it reached his eyes, which was always a treat, “Nah. I’ll stay and help you get settled.”

Sirius blinked, “Really?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, quite solemnly, “I spent ages sorting out those books, I’m not having you throw them in a box under your bed.”

The moment, if it had ever been there, broke, and Sirius grinned and shoved Moony for his sass, “You little shit. Come on then, before you get bored of babysitting me.”

“Never,” Remus said through a huff of laughter, and Sirius did everything in his power to pretend (to Remus, to himself) that he was reading the labels on the boxes Moony pulled in front of him as an excuse to lean in close. The sun continued to warm and brighten the room, but its rays, Sirius noted with no small amount of self-deprecation, seemed to fall golden across his best friend’s laughing face.


	2. Chapter 2

_ September 30th, 1978 _

He’d been chewing on wool.

Or, at least, it felt like it, his mouth sticking together at the gums and the inside of his cheeks. His tongue was too big for his mouth. Someone had put a sticking charm on his jaw.

“‘Lo?” he croaked out. His jeans were in a pile by the bed, so he had at least managed to get undressed before collapsing. Partially, he noted, pulling his t-shirt over his head and wincing at the smell.

Merlin, he needed a shower.

Moreso, he needed to stop letting James egg him on into drinking so much. It wasn’t very often that Sirius could stand up and admit a flaw in his otherwise glittering personality, but his pride very well may be something that needed to work on. If he’d managed to end the night with any of it left intact, anyway. Given the state of his head, he doubted it.

“You’re not dead then.”

Sirius startled, pulling the covers up to his chin instinctively, but it was just Remus, leaning against his bedroom door. His hair was wet, and that was definitely not his t-shirt. Sirius had to blink a few times before the image made sense in his head.

“You showered,” he said stupidly.

Remus shifted, “Yeah, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Don’t be daft, Moony,” Sirius scoffed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, “Of course I don’t. I keep telling you, you don’t have to be so polite here. Shower, nick my t-shirts. You’re here enough.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, looking at the floor.

“I’m honest, I’m not gonna go off the wall at you for making yourself a cup of tea-” He stopped, taking a deep breath, “Is that bacon?”

Remus grinned, “Yeah, I was just gonna come wake you up.”

“You made breakfast.”

“Well, you looked like you were gonna need it,” Remus snorted, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck awkwardly.

Sirius stared at him, “You’re here. And you made breakfast.”

“Merlin, how much did James pour down your throat last night?” Remus laughed, “Yeah, I’m here, I stole your t-shirt, I made you breakfast. Anything else you need clarification on?”

_ Yes _ , he almost said,  _ Is this why James is so bloody high on domestic life? Does he have to double take every time Lily makes him a bacon sandwich? Does it ever get boring having someone there in the morning when you smell a bit crap and can’t quite put sentences together but doesn’t seem to mind anyway? How the fuck do we ever get them out of their house if this is what it feels like every morning? _

“Is there tea?” he said instead, because even he wasn’t so hungover so as to start blabbering that sort of nonsense.

Remus beamed, “Assam, two sugars, splash of milk.”

Sirius clambered to his feet, “Marry me, Moony.”

“Only if you shower,” he said lightly. Sirius just slung an arm around his best friend’s neck, ignoring his noise of disgust as Remus tried shoving him off.

Once he was clean and dressed - or as dressed as he was going to get on a Sunday morning - he sat down on the sofa with a plate laden with piping hot breakfast food; bacon, sausage, eggs, toast, hash browns and a healthy slice of black pudding. Another pot of Assam was brewing on the coffee table next to Sirius’ feet. Remus spread the Daily Prophet out across both of their laps so they could both read and eat at the same time. 

They ate in mostly companionable silence, occasionally pointing inane details, like the recent string of wins from the Falmouth Falcons, or the rising price of lacewing flies. Remus poured out another cup of tea for both of them, and Sirius didn’t even look up when he poured in the milk, because Remus knew how much to put in.

That, he thought, meant something.

Remus levitated their plates to the sink, where they started cleaning themselves, with a bit of truly finicky magic that Sirius had never quite mastered, and definitely never without looking. It was pressing close to midday, and the sun shone brightly into the flat. A beam of it fell across Remus’ face as he tipped his head back against the sofa, eyes shut. It didn’t quite reach where Sirius was sat, and he toyed with the idea of moving closer, whether to feel the heat of the sun or his best friend, he wasn’t sure.

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew this thing, whatever it was, was getting out of hand. It showed in the details, the little things he wouldn’t have thought twice over before, like leaning his head on Remus’ shoulder or nicking bits of sausage off his plate. Every time he hesitated over something they’d been doing for years, he fell deeper and deeper. Cruelly, it was going to end up being his desperate attempts to act normal that tipped Remus off, but that was his own fault for fancying someone so bloody smart.

“Any plans for today?” he said suddenly, mostly to distract himself from the spiraling train of thought that he’d found himself in.

Remus opened his eyes blearily, turning his head to face Sirius, “Nothing from Dumbledore. So, no I guess. You?”

“We should go somewhere.”

“Where?” 

Sirius watched as the sunlight caressed Remus’ cheeks in the shadows of his eyelashes as he blinked. If he thought about it hard enough, he could convince himself it was the sun he wanted to feel against him.

“I dunno, we’re wizards. Anywhere we like.”

Remus smiled softly, “Anywhere we like?”

“Somewhere sunny. A beach,” Sirius grinned, clapping his hand on Remus’ knee, “C’mon, we’re going to the beach.”

He summoned a mostly clean towel from his bedroom, a spare t-shirt (and then another one, when he remembered Remus wearing his faded Holyhead Harpies t-shirt and told himself it was because he was a practical, generous mate and not some sap who wanted to see Remus in more of his clothes) and a pair of sunglasses, shoving the towel and shirts in a bag and the sunglasses on his head. Remus watched him from the sofa, something akin to disbelief on his face. It was a bit like the look on his face when Remus had first been made prefect and he’d had to decide whether or not to follow Sirius to the girl’s lavatory to hex all the mirrors to reflect upside down.

Eventually, good sense won out, and Remus struggled to his feet.

“There are some nice beaches in Cornwall.”

Sirius grinned, “That’s the spirit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may, one day, write a oneshot about that day at the beach.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this some four years ago, and I've just got round to finishing it. Which it is - finished. I'll be uploading one or two chapters a week while I go through some edits because 19 year old me had some stuff to learn.
> 
> Title from To Build A Home, by the Cinematic Orchestra, which is a tragically beautiful song and also very, very relevant to Sirius and Remus.


End file.
